Demonic Tendencies
by everyone'ssister
Summary: AU 9.23 through present. What if for once the Winchester's were selfish? Death is imminent on Dean's heels but will Sam fight for him? And will he be able to fight the demon battling for dominance within his brother? (On indefinite hiatus)
1. Chapter 1

DEMONIC TENDENCIES

 _The air is so clear and cold it burns Sam's lungs as he breathes it in. The old asphalt road under his feet is cracked and mostly just rocks. The impala had barely made it up here. But it was worth it, the silence, the blue sky stretching forever and ever ahead of him, nothing but woods slanting down and away for hundreds of miles. There are birds singing, wind rustles leaves but those are the only sounds._

 _Sam turns to look at Dean. His brother still looks white and weak, redness around his eyes making the brilliant green standout even more. But Dean shoots him a sincere smile as he protectively holds his arm close to his body. Sam thinks a strong wind would knock Dean over right now, but getting him smiling was an improvement so he wasn't complaining._

 _Sam hasn't felt this in tune with his brother in years. He lets out a final sigh and then turns to start unpacking the impala, doesn't mind that Dean just leans against his baby and watches. Breathes in the clear, clean mountain air._

 _He's breathing, Sam thinks, he's breathing...and thats more than enough._

Chapter 1.

Even as Dean's arm swept up in a vicious arc to slice through Gadreel's chest, a part of his mind screams frantically at him to stop. Over the past few days he had forced the nausea and cabin fever down trying to control the pacing beast inside him. But as the first blade finds its home in his palm and its sharp blade slips through the soft skin of Gadreel's vessel the nausea, the tension flees from his muscles and leaves him with one thought, and one thought only.

Finish the kill.

Dean sees red. His vision is clearing as Sam and Cas bodily drag him away from Gadreel's fallen body and from the library, down the hall. And he knows, God, he feels the ache bone, soul deep...he hadn't finished the kill. The fight leaves his body, leaving Sam and Cas supporting a corpse like form in their arms.

His vision spins, crueler nausea than ever before makes him gag weakly. The burning sensation on his arm lets him know the mark is alive and its dark power it coursing through his veins stronger than any high he's felt before...too strong. He's nearly over run with it, his hearing fading in and out, the sound of his own heart beat drowning out Sam and Cas' words. Blackness ebbs at the edge of his vision until he's in the all too familiar file room and knows that Sam and Cas mean to lock him away safe and sound.

Please no, he thinks. I'm going insane as it is. There's something itching to claw its way out of him and he can't breathe, he can think...lately he can't even eat. But Sam hasn't seen his cries for help, or has been ignoring them. The cold man his little brother has become over the last few months isn't Dean's redemption anymore.

He's chosen his road and he knows where it leads. The mark demands blood and so does Sam...Gadreel's blood and that's all he was trying to do. And even in his fever and blood lust hazed mind he knows that's still no excuse.

Sorry Sammy, he thinks, as they shut the dungeon doors behind them and leave alone with this thing on his arm. I tried to get him for you, I really did. Because that's what Sam wanted right? For Gadreel to pay for what he did to Kevin? He doesn't even know anymore and Dean kind of doubts Sam does either.

Quiet falls over the bunker as Sam swings the door shut behind him, leaves Dean pacing the Solomon's key in the dungeon floor over and over again. Slowly the angry red of the mark dims on his arm and his boiling blood calms. Dean is able to force its dark presence back into its mental box and finally he has himself back, he can think clearly again...kind of.

Sighing in relief, he cocks his head to one side listening carefully for a break in the silence...I'm alone in the bunker, he decides.

It's too quiet, and Dean and the mark are still very much too alive. Even with the mark boxed away, Dean still thinks of the near miss he had killing Gadreel. God, he just wanted it to be over, he wanted to know that son of bitch's blood was all over his hands, he wanted to do to that angel like he'd done to Abbadon. Obliterate him who had come between he and his brother, smear his insides over the floor, watch the bluish gleam fade from his eyes and let Sam know, he's made it right.

Pleasedontleavemealoneineedyouidontknowwhatswrongwithmewhatishappeningwhycanihearthebloodbeatingthroughme...whycanihearthebloodrushingthroughyourviens.

He looks down at his hands numbly and finds his fingernails buried in the soft skin of his palms. He can't even feel it. The anger and frustration coursing through him is senseless and yet he's completely controlled by it. He's knows he has to get out, he has to get out of here and finish Gadreel and Metatron needs to be stopped before whatever the Mark of Cain is doing rips him apart.

He thinks of summoning Crowley, he could get Dean out of the bunker. Pictures flash over his eyes, he and Sam against the world, Crowley screwing them over...the blade rushing through Abaddon, slicing cleanly through Gadreel...he's trembling, shaking violently. His stomach rolling.

That's not he and Sam anymore, and Crowley had helped lately...the blood lust, the very conviction that he must finish Gadreel off is flooding him. It's a conviction, not a thought or desire...in his bones, soul and heart he must kill the angel and that's what brings him pause.

 _Who is this person?_ He thinks frantically. Is this really him now? Dean's a hunter, a defender of the innocent not a stone cold killer, not someone who thirsts for blood. But even as he thinks that his heart speeds up at the sight of the silky red liquid pulling in his palms and dripping onto the floor.

 _Sammy was right to leave you,_ he tells himself feverishly. _You've become the things you hunt...monster._

The word rams into him and Dean curls in on himself, back against the wall and slides down it to sit and wrap his arms around his knees and listen to his own shuddering breaths. But his mind is screaming at him, and slowly the mark is heating up again and Dean realizes too late he's lost control.

 _You are a disgrace, you aren't human anymore, you're no better than any other demon or vampire. You need to end this now Dean, end this now before you hurt anyone else, before you hurt Cas or Sam. You can do it yourself..._

But Dean doesn't want to die, he thinks hazily through the angry flames and words licking over his mind traveling from his arm and he's not conscious enough to realize with no other option the mark is calling for his own blood.

The ache, the pain inside him is becoming almost unbearable. His insides are boiling but his skin is covered with goosebumps, shivers wracking his frame. The fever that had been simmering over the past few days spiking with the feeling of blood on his fingertips and with the high over nearly ending Gadreel.

Dean fists handfuls of his hair the pain centering him a very little bit. He doesn't want to die, Sam needs him whether he realizes it or not...and they have to defeat Metatron at least for humanity's sake. And Sam can have a regular life again, Dean knows deep down, he knows when he's gone Sam can finally have what he's always wanted.

But first he had to fight, first he had to become himself again in order to help Sam and for them to fight Metatron. So he had to fight the mark, because Sam doesn't need another problem on his hands, doesn't need Dean messing something else up then Sam maybe really would leave him...

Those words are still echoing faintly in his brain...

" _No Dean, same circumstances, I wouldn't."_

And that's okay, Dean gets it. He's a screw up, he needs Sam in ways Sam will never need him. And bottom line that was it wasn't it? That day, the moment those words left Sam's lips Dean had lost his purpose, when Sam said they couldn't be brothers anymore Dean lost what individualized him. Because without Sam that's all Dean really was, a bloody, angry hunter...a killer.

So was it any surprise he was the perfect bearer of the mark, no, Dean didn't think so. And he accepted that before he even realized he did.

Now he realizes it. Now he knows this virus, the sickness growing from his arm lightening fast and into his brain has to be stopped, has to be ripped out, burned out...has to be ended. Because whether Sam knows it or not Dean is a brother to the end, to his very end.

And god, Dean is ready for it to be the end. He's tired, so tired of fighting, of being angry, of being alone...so one last stand sounds all too good to him. He pulls himself to his feet, swaying with vertigo, pukes on his own boots and thinks through the red haze of is mind, _I've got to get rid of this damn mark._

And he's got to do it quick, he can feel it inside him, slithering like a snake, flickering like flames of fire, hooking in like cruel, jagged teeth in the sinews of his very being...he doesn't have much time.

...

The look of pure, savage hatred and darkness on Dean's face as he lashes out at Gadreel makes Sam sick to his stomach. He did this. This is what he'd made Dean think he wanted. Revenge, anger, death...didn't want Dean, only to be repaid for his own hurt. Because this person in front of him wasn't Dean, couldn't be his brother.

Eyes are wild and bright, if Sam had taken time to notice...wild and bright with fever. His brother's body is alive with energy as he grinds his teeth and growls at the fallen angel as he fights Sam and Cas with inhuman force. Sam grits his own teeth pushes his brother backwards with all his might; without Cas' supernatural strength Dean would have easily overpowered them both.

"Dean." He gasps out, half pleading with him...please stop, please let me know this is not who you are now, please let me not have lost you. Dean doesn't stop struggling until all three of them stand panting in the dungeon. Dean scares the living daylights out of his brother when he goes suddenly limp.

All fight suddenly gone, all strength seemingly used up or zapped out of him. Sam wonders if the heavier warding down here was detaining the darker powers swimming through Dean's veins right now. He and Cas let him go, cautiously stepping back watching the muscles in Dean's shoulders ripple with tension and anger. Sam bites the side of his mouth at the way Dean sways, but the rest of his body language screams aggressiveness.

When he turns around Dean's face is set like stone, cold as ice...frozen in that terrible foreign expression. No, Sam tells himself, something is wrong with Dean, this is not who he is. Couldn't be, Sam would have notice this severe a decline. Wouldn't he?

"Sam." He says simply as the two closest people in his life slowly back away from him. "Sam." He says again, as they reach the door and Sam's heart shatters into thousands of pieces as he listens to Dean's angry, but terrified voice as he and Cas shut the door and leave him alone in the bunker's dungeon.

Dean doesn't even know what going on with him.

How had they gotten here? How with all Sam's careful planing and keeping space between them had they still ended up here? Still ended with Sam letting Dean down and leaving him. Because that's bottom line why Sam had been so angry about Dean saving him. How many times was Dean going to look over Sam's giving up and just making his bed and lying in it and in doing that giving up on Dean and failing him? Sam deserved to die, Dean deserved to be free from his weak little brother,

Somewhere along the way he'd just been angry and confused and if Dean wouldn't allow Sam to go Sam decided he would allow Dean to go and oh god...he can't even begin to imagine the chaos and destruction within his brother's heart at those ugly words.

" _No Dean, same circumstances, I wouldn't."_

He lets fingers fall through his hair in a nervous tick of his as he and Cas come back into the map room. He stares numbly at the bloodstains on their floor, Gadreel is gone. They jump in Cas' car since Dean is locked up with his precious car keys and follow the blood trail to where Gadreel is panting on the ground, his blood soaking into the grass as he heals.

Cas kneels besides him and Sam watches the wounded angel flinch. He's still angry at Gadreel but his heart sympathizes with him. He's been in those shoes, shoes of trying to do good only for it always to go wrong. He watches in silence with his lips pursed as Cas lends hand healing the gash in Gadreel' chest.

They are all silent on the road side for a moment, Gadreel seems to recognize the last few moments and their happenings have been a shock to Cas and Sam. The wind is sweeping around them, birds singing in the air, Sam can hear little wings of grasshoppers and bumblebees in the fields around and his mind goes to Dean.

He sees a million afternoons like this one with he and Dean stretched out on baby's hood, hazy afternoons spent in and out of sleep and every time he wakes Dean is there humming under his breath, tinkering in the impala's engine or simply staring into the fathomless blue sky.

How was he here? How had he wandered so far from their roots that somehow he'd convinced Dean the only thing he wanted from him was to kill an angel? He'd made Dean believe he cared nothing for him and so Dean had gone and found another purpose for himself, to be a weapon...a living, breathing weapon.

Sam shivers thinking back to Dean's face, the confidence in his attempt to destroy Gadreel right there in their home, his inability to stop himself mutilating Abbadon's lifeless body. Sam had turned his back on his brother and in turn Dean had lost himself...had Sam lost him yet? Was there still time, still a chance?

He needed to tell Dean, tell him he lied, tell him he needs him. Tell him he doesn't want Dean to spill blood for him in order to regain their brotherhood, not Gadreel's blood, god, not Dean's blood. Because Sam knows, knows how this ends just like Dean had.

 _"This ends with one of us dead."_

 _No_ , Sam thinks frantically. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. He just wanted Dean to hurt like he had, but he'd pushed too far hadn't he? Dean wasn't him, Dean was different. He was good and honorable and loyal...and Sam brought out the worst in him—if Sam wanted blood, if Sam needed Dean to kill then Dean would.

All Dean had wanted was to save his brother, Sam knew what that was like. But he'd turned his back on Dean when he'd been in Purgatory and when Dean saved him again and fought with him through the trails the guilt was crushing and Sam wanted to die. He honest to God wanted to die, relieve Dean of his disloyalty, the cruelty of his halfway love...a love that couldn't follow him to Purgatory apparently.

But Dean, Dean didn't care, he wanted Sam any way and in any form. Dean cared nothing for mistakes or shortcomings all he wanted was he and Sam on the road fighting evil. And right now as Sam realizes he's about to lose his brother again he gets it. He finally gets it.

There is nothing greater...nothing he honestly loves better then that. He'd tried to deny it and Dean had been trying to show him for years and years. That they had nothing more than that. They had Baby and they had each other and that was it, they would never have anything else. And whatever it took to keep that, whoever they had to fight or lie to in order to keep that, even themselves, they would do it.

And finally he recognizes that, finally Sam sees it. It's wrong, it's unjust and reckless. But he knows that there can be nothing but the two of them, nothing in between and no grudges. He needs to get back to Dean, remembers the sorrow in his voice when he shut him in the dungeon. The desperation and confusion all over his face under the anger...fear clenches around his heart as he realizes Dean has no idea what's going on with him either.

Sam doesn't even want to think about what Dean might do cornered and scared and guilty locked up in their dungeon, but he does know he needs to get back to him now. Tell him it's alright, he's sorry, please don't hate me, please don't go fight, please don't leave me...

And that's exactly what Sam had done to Dean hadn't he? He now sees Dean finding hunts and trying to be with him as the cry for help that it was, he's failed Dean again, he realizes with a heavy, sick heart. His brother needed help, that thing on his arm was forcefully twisting him into something his beautiful, righteous brother wasn't. And Sam had turned his back on him.

"Dean's right, you know?" Gadreel says and Sam jerks his head towards him to look at his face and find the meaning of his words.

"He's our best bet to defeat Metatron."

Sam is silent but Cas nods. "He's right Sam. The first blade is the closest we are to having something that can kill Metatron. If we were able to disconnect him from the angel tablet Dean might have a chance."

 _Dean might have a chance._

'Might' was far too slim a chance, much too risky for Sam. Was he really about to send his brother on a suicide mission calmly and willingly? No. There had to be another way. There was another way. Hadn't he and Dean given up enough? Hadn't they saved the world enough times? It was time for Sam to look to his own.

He thinks of all the times he refused to talk to Dean, refused to even look at him, refused to raven simply watch a movie with him...and now he could scarcely find his brother in those familiar, beautiful green eyes. This is not how they are going to end. Dean deserved better than this, deserved a better Sam. And Sam can be better, because Dean always makes him a better man.

He wasn't going to settle for anything but the best for Dean. If they're going down they're going down together, Sam is going to save Dean, is going to pull him back from whatever scary kamikaze edge he's standing on. He's going to show Dean he's here, he still cares...pleasedontdieiliedpleasedontleaveme.

He lies god forgive him...but he lies to Cas and Gadreel. He doesn't now what will happen to them when they are caught in heaven but it's a necessary sacrifice in order to save Dean. He's not letting Dean go on a suicide mission, in fact he's got half a mind to lock he and Dean up in the bunker and let them live out the rest of their years as hermits.

Let him use the rest of their lives making it up to Dean because god, he's been horrible.

He turns his back on his and his brother's best friend. It leaves a gaping hole in his chest, and he knows if Dean finds out his brother will never forgive him. He's willing to take all those risks as long as Dean lives...

 _I'm coming Dean, I'm sorry, I love you...please forgive me, please don't leave me._

He wonders who and what exactly will be waiting for him back at the bunker, but knows it doesn't matter. He's started them on a course that can't be altered. A course that is he and Dean against the rest of the world...

Sam hasn't felt this sure, this right since he got his soul back. It's taken him that long to get his true purpose back. To find who he really is once again. He has a feeling this is the stupidest thing he's done to date but Dean will live...Dean will live on with him. And maybe that makes him a selfish bastard, but he wonders when he lost the meaning of how codependent he and Dean are.

Realizes he stole Dean's very essence and expected him to carry on without it...he knows with tears in his eyes and his hands trembling that Dean's wounds and scars are far from just physical. He wonders how long it will take for them to rebuild what he'd torn down...is so scared that Dean won't even want that again.

All he can pray is that Dean is the better man, hope that Dean loves him far better than Sam loves Dean. As he goes straight to Dean's voicemail for the fourth time his stomach is twisted and sour with worry. _Dean's just pissed off,_ he tells himself. _He's just ignoring me._

But his foot is heavier on the gas, his heart is beating wildly...thinks of the wild, angry and then cold and calculated looks on Dean's face. Clenches his fist against the steering wheel hearing the terrified tremors in Dean's voice as he pleads for 'Sammy' to come back.

The endless, horrendous possibilities of what those emotions could make his brother do leaves Sam a nervous sweating mess, worry and anger at himself thrumming under his skin leaving him burning ridiculously hot the rest of the way home.

He locks the bunker door securely behind him. "Dean?" He shouts, as he hurries down the stairs two at a time, not really expecting an answer but needs one, so bad. Just needs to know his brother is still there...that he's not too late. When he arrives in the file room, his heart is in his throat the silence filling him with horrible, horrible dread. The scene that greets him causes his blood to run equally cold, tears frozen in his eyes.

...tbc

Okay guys here it is, lemme know what you think with a REVIEW!? ;) **whether I continue this or not depends on what you guys say in the comments so COMMENT!** Lol

Love you guys:)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

 _Breath._

 _A soft sound, a rise and fall of his brother's chest, small puff of mist in the chilled air that is the very life of Sam right now. It keeps a steady rhythm, Dean as constant as waves on the shore most of the time. But then there are moments when Sam hears the rhythm change and Dean's breath catches. His fingers wrap around his forearm with a dark, pained expression and Sam is filled with cold dread._

 _He can't compete against it, he can't keep it away. It's inside. He can't get it out...it's rooted there in his brother's very soul, essence. He sees the flame in Dean's eyes sometimes like a bomb has detonated within Dean. The lust, the craze...the insanity a little bit of blood sets ablaze in him._

 _Sam shivers when he sees it and he prays to whoever may listen. He knows he screwed up. He knows he took what he and Dean were for granted. But don't, he pleads, don't take him away from me. And when Dean tosses and mumbles in his sleep Sam sits awake, hands over his mouth, tears in his eyes, holding his breath...because this is his fault._

 _He reaches out to Dean. And his brother goes through stages of being receptive and withdrawn. He catches Dean with a cold light in his eyes sometimes, or a rock pressed into his palm until blood wells up._

 _There are no words between them in these moments. Sam simply takes Dean's hand and makes the blood disappear, ends the fix. And Dean is silent, Sam not knowing whether he hates Sam for this or loves him for it._

 _He thinks one day they will find out. One day Dean will either die himself or kill Sam to feed the need for blood. They don't think about that. They don't talk about that._

 _They do make up for lost time though. Dean smiles more, and Sam never leaves him. They laugh and watch bad tv together, Sam's beats Dean at scrabble, but Dean is the champion of their chess games. He was always the strategist._

 _Dean cooks and when Sam looses the bet that he doesn't burn everything on the charcoal grill, he has to stand under the shower head outside that's supplied from the mountain spring. He gets sick and Dean feels bad. And neither of them say anything when Dean falls asleep on Sam's bed while keeping an eye on him._

 _Sam just sends up another thankful prayer._

 _They heal._

 _They grow. They grow closer._

 _It doesn't help. The ache in Sam doesn't go away it only worsens. Their time grows short he knows, Dean's time grows short. And Sam knows this is only torture for them. To have something now for so short a time that they should have had for years and years._

 _And it's all his fault...he knows that. All his fault._

...

Dean's spent his fair share of time in captivity. Come on, forty years in hell gets him into an elite class there at least. But never before has he felt so suffocated. The room spins, goes from hot to cold, the mark blurring in his vision where he's trying to focus on it, his fingers brushing over the heat of it, watching it blaze up and glow with every one of his breaths. He thinks vaguely he should be a lot more freaked out by it.

The circling walls are closing in on him and the dark whispers inside him are pushing him towards something terrible. Fighting against his senses, and the hunter's instinct inside that are telling him to fight the evil coursing rough his veins. He wants to fight, he wants to fight for Sam. But Sam's not here.

Sam doesn't care. The darkness inside whispers, Sam doesn't care what happens to you.

But Dean does care, he cares what happens to Sam and he can't just lay down and die, but he will, he feels it in his gut, he will if he doesn't do something. Doesn't somehow halt the mark and it's growing power over him, it's there rooted in his skin...a part of him. A part of him. He feels sick.

Feels sick knowing the darkness inside him is a part, he invited it in. He needs it off, he needs to get it out right now, needs to be free. Needs to be able to fight for Sam, needs to redeem himself...can't die until Sam forgives him, until Sam realizes he meant well. He wasn't trying to hurt him or Kevin. It was a mistake, a terrible one, but still unintended.

He strips out of his coat, his phone clattering to the cold, cement floor. His hands shaking as he prepares the summoning ritual for calling Crowley almost by instinct. If Crowley can't help himself, or won't. At least there will be someone here...someone's blood to spill. Something to make the mark shut up inside his head.

He lights the match and for a second the flames licks at his fingers and god, the pain is perfect. His eyes shut as he feels it lick along the tips of his fingers and then Crowley is standing there. And Dean can hear the blood pumping through his body, can feel each pulse.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to center himself.

"What is happening to me, you son of a bitch?" He asks, shakily.

"Liquor before beer, bad taco, how should I know?" Crowley snarks back and Dean clenches his teeth biting back the snarl.

"I can't turn it off," he grits out, his hand closed over the pulsing, glowing warmth of the mark. "Ever since Abbadon, I can't turn it off."

And then Crowley's eyes go dark and calculating and Dean figures he knows that look, he's screwed. He knows in that moment there's something more to this, something more than Crowley had told him...he'd been had.

"Am I dying?" He asks, unflinchingly looking into Crowley's eyes.

Crowley shrugs unconcerned. "You definitely don't look so hot." He insults. "But the mark should protect you."

"I want to get rid of it," Dean rasps out.

"Now that's too bad," Crowley pouts and then smiles coldly. "Did Cain ever say ANYTHING about how to remove the mark? No he didn't. And besides squirrel," he holds up his hand to snap, "I'm not finished with you or the mark quite just yet." Crowley's gone the next second and Dean growls in frustration. He kicks the bronze bowl across the room and against the wall in rage.

His breath rasps out over his lungs, his arm is on fire and god, the itch under his skin, the lust for blood...he can't even think past it. Only he sees the blood under his own fingernails, the bloody, self-inflicted wounds on his palms. And then it's his own blood he hears rushing through his veins, his own heart beat drowning out every other sound.

And as much as he wants even his own blood his mind is still with Sam. Still on the mistakes he's made, still on Kevin dead and cold. And it'd been Dean who burned him, and buried his ashes, not Sam. And the ache inside Dean is so deep and raw he has to do something, he has to stop it somehow.

He has to get the mark off him, he has to get these voices out of his head...he has to make Sam see he's sorry, don't leave.

 _I make this right. I can make this right_. He chants to himself over and over again.

And inside him he ignores the way the mark coils and glows in satisfaction...what the mark wants and Dean's decision coincide but Dean doesn't even realize it. His desperation, the feeling that Sam is gone for good, that Sam won't be able to help is crushing. Dean knows he's on his own now.

The mark must be removed...he doesn't think about the harm to himself...doesn't think how that's exactly what the mark wants.

That there's no other blood to spill, only Dean's.

 _Sam left me because I can't control it_ , he thinks, _if I can just get rid of the mark, then me and Sam can fight Metatron together_. And that's all he wants. Just wants Sam and him and the impala on the road, just wants it to be them against the world like it's supposed to be.

His body takes this moment to contract with rolling cramps and heat waves, Dean manages to lean a hand against the wall this time and retch onto the floor. Panting hard he pats down his pockets until he finds his silver knife where it always is in his right hand pocket. The steel is cold on his skin and it's not the high of holding the first blade but god, does it feel good.

He takes a shuddering breath that's supposed to be calming and shucks off his button up flannel, fishes out his lighter from his coat.

"If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right." He mutters under his breath with resolve, heating the blade of the knife with the lighter. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch." He says to himself, and Sam's not there to convince him it's a bad idea.

He lets himself slip down the wall and sits with his back against it. His phone across the room on the floor, foolish perhaps. Somehow he thinks that he's not thinking clearly, thinks he should wait for Sam or Cas...thinks he should think this through better, thinks something is wrong, this can't be right. His heart beat is pushing through his ears, he can hear his blood rushing through his veins and there's a call...a call for blood. His blood.

The lighter clatters to the floor.

The knife is anything but steady in his even unsteadier hand as he lowers it to the soft flesh of his forearm. He can feel the heat radiating off it meeting the angry warmth of the mark then he feels nothing but the pain. Smells the scent of burning flesh, feels white hot metal slipping through his skin with blissful ease.

His eyes are blurring out but god, then there's blood and he's suddenly awake. It pools in the gaping hole he's making in his arm then runs silkily to dribble to the floor. Relief, silence...the heat is gone; the mark has been appeased.

His body is his own again, his mind is his own. The pain, it's almost sweet and welcome and then the burning sets in. His skin on fire, the rawness pulsing with his own heart beat, more blood gushing. He looks down at the red wound in disbelief, shock, eyes slowly becoming cloudy again, his mind screaming with panic and the insanity of the intenseness of the pain. It's unbearable in a way Dean hadn't experienced on earth, but only in hell.

The metal clinks and echoes on the cement when he drops the knife, his head falls back against the wall as he pants heavily, eyes on the ceiling and the devil's trap painted there thinking happily, it's gone. The evil inside him is gone, the power cold and silent...the demons that had been whispering to him for so long finally just _quiet_.

There's a relived smile on Dean's face when his eyes roll back in his head and he slumps towards the ground.

...tbc

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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

 _Sam expected that when Dean broke it would be more of an explosion than anything else. He never thought his strong brother would simply crumble inward._

 _Time stretched on and ignored the brothers up on the mountain but it told on Dean, that hunger, that fire eating away at his insides. They pretended everything was okay, they treasured the time they had together. Because even though neither of them spoke it they knew; these were their last days together._

 _Sam's becoming foolishly hopeful. It's been a while since Dean showed signs of the mark, the silences and laughs sat easily between them and his brother mellows out into a man somewhat resembling himself. Sam should have realized too mellowed out, this wasn't Dean at all. This was resignation._

 _It's a morning like all the others here on the mountain. Birds sing as soon as the sun shows its face, the cool air drifts in through the opened kitchen window and Sam breathes in its scent along with freshly brewed coffee. Like every morning he pads down the hallway and taps the back of his knuckles on Dean's door before opening it softly._

 _"Dean? Time to wake u..."_

 _Dean's eyes jump to meet his and Sam drops the steaming cup of coffee and shatters on the floor with a crash and splash._

 _His brother sits slumped in the darkest corner of his room, long silver knife lying forgotten in a cooling puddle of his blood. His hands lay palms up, limp in his lap...two lacerations long and perfect, vertical up and down his wrists and the tender flesh of his forearms._

 _The lap of his pants is soaked with the red substance and Dean turns his face up to Sam his expression a twist of shame and peace, his skin white as death. Sam shuts his mouth where it had been gaping in surprise, and goes to his knees beside his brother, the knees of his jeans sopping up blood from the floor._

 _"Dean..." he says, broken, disappointed...but mostly scared._

 _At Sam's tone Dean wakes up a little, looks down at his wrists in near surprise. He's got nothing to say, doesn't stop Sam as he presses bed sheets to the still oozing wounds._

 _"You're okay, you're okay," Sam whispers as he pulls Dean close. And his brother weak with blood loss goes with it, hides his face in Sam's shirt and cries. Cries in frustration, disappointment, failure...relief? He's not sure, and Sam isn't either._

 _They can't say. Sam doesn't ask Dean to promise not to do this again, because he knows Dean won't. So they hold tight to each other there on the floor in Dean's blood because they know, their time is running out one way or another._

...

"Oh god," Sam coughs out, pressing the back of his hand against his lips at the stench in the dungeon and with horror at the sight of Dean, slumped over unconscious. "Dean!" He's on his knees beside his brother in a moment hands hovering helplessly. The blood on the floor making his heart beat uncontrollably fast, his fingers meet with Dean's skin and he hisses with the heat emanating off his brother.

"The hell happened?" He mutters under his breath as he grabs Dean's arms to pull him from the floor but Sam's hands slip in the slickness of his sweat coated skin. It's with rough, frantic movements that Sam moves Dean so that his upper body lays propped up against his chest. Face up Dean is white as death, bright red splotches on his cheeks.

Arms wrapped around Dean, terrified that somehow he'll slip away before he can make this right, Sam spots the bloodied knife in the floor and as his mind races wondering what or who had attacked his brother his eyes land on Dean's forearm. The raised mark he was looking for wondering if it was aflame or dormant, to see if somehow the Mark of Cain was doing this; it's gone. Nothing but a red, raw crater left where it used to be.

Sam gags, unconsciously pulling Dean closer. "What have you done to yourself?" He gasps out shocked, appalled...broken hearted at what Dean had done. What Dean had done because of the evil inside him, because Sam had left him to fight it alone.

"Dean!" He shakes him, feels terrified, scared tears burning his eyes. "Dean please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I have to tell you...I have to tell you just me and you against the world. Please, you're my brother..." the word falls from his lips the sweetest thing he's every said, that could ever be said to him. But he'd waited much too late.

Dean had been alone, utterly alone and fighting the deepest darkest evil and he hadn't even had the assurance that Sam would come back for him, that Sam still needed him, that Sam still cared...

"Dean, dammit!" He yells frustrated, his voice breaking with sorrow, hugging his older sibling closer, "I'm not letting you go, do you hear me?!"

Sam's panicked breaths fall against Dean's face heavily, moving his hair a little, Sam watches in horror as he gets no reaction, Dean's eyes moving restlessly under his lids and Sam feels the heat bleeding through both their clothes from Dean's body and burning Sam.

"Jesus you're hot," he says, pushing hair from his eyes with one hand and then slipping it under Dean's knees. "You're gonna be okay," he mutters, grunts as Sam stands bearing Dean's dead weight, "You're gonna be okay, you're gonna see...I'm here, I came back for you, you're going to see..."

And because Dean can't hear him, with his cheek pressed against his collarbone, Sam says it over and over and over again into his ear as he stumbles through the halls and into the showers, blinking in the fluorescent lights there. He grimaces with pain as he goes to his knees under one of the shower heads and reaches to turn on the cold water, shudders with the freezing spray.

Dean's legs slip from his hold so he slumps into Sam's chest and the younger Winchester supports his brother gently, angles his head so the water doesn't hit him full in the face. Sam tries to control his breaths in the cold water and lets the coolness seep into Dean's clothes and pummel into his hot skin. Soon his brother begins to shake, shivers wracking his body, weak groans whispering from his parted lips and eyes moving feverishly under their lids. Sam simply never takes his eyes off his face and prays to whoever may be listening that this works and brings Dean back to him.

He tenderly lifts the wounded arm and lets the spray clean the gapping valley of raw skin, knows it hurts like hell, shudders when Dean finally stirs with the pain, turning his head away from the lights and the cold water, pressing his forehead into Sam's breastbone.

Sam can't decipher between water drops and tears on his face as Dean's hand raises to weakly try to push him away, "C, cold..." he stammers under his breath through chattering teeth.

The first time Sam has ever heard Dean's first word be something other than his name after waking up from an injury. It hurts more than you would expect.

"Dean. Hey," he rushes out, in a choked voice, "It's okay I'm here, just gotta get you temperature down I know it's cold."

Dean still pushes at him, obviously not recognizing him. "Itsss cold..." is all he manages to grit out in pained whispers, hands alternating between fisting in the front of Sam's shirt and then trying to push him away.

"Okay okay," Sam finally comforts, reaching up to turn off the water, grabbing one of Dean's hands. "All done, I swear, all done."

Dean, still delirious with fever, mostly still unconscious, pants through his shivers on Sam's chest, exhausted with fighting against his brother and the cold accosting his senses. Sam simply aches at the sight, at the feeling. Dean fights him, Dean wants nothing more than to be away from him, to be safe from his cold words and carefully obvious avoidance.

Rock bottom and Dean can't be strong anymore, can't pretend like he can deal anymore, he tried to make it right for Sam and he didn't care if it cost him his life. Sam bites the inside of his mouth against his roaring emotions as he carefully strips Dean's wet boots, socks, jeans and t-shirt off his brother, he doesn't matter right now. How he feels is of no import, this is what his feelings had done, this what he had done to Dean.

It's only when he's making his way to Dean's room with his brother shivering in his arms that he notices how thin Dean is. The way the bones in his back and his ribs stand out...how had he missed all this? Dean had been slowly deteriorating right in front of his eyes and he hadn't been bothered to notice.

He lays Dean gently on his bed, pulls the sheets and covers over him, fishes a few more out of the chest at the foot of Dean's bed. He takes a step back, hands in his hair, gripping it at the roots, his eyes wide as he stares down as Dean's thin, haunted looking face.

 _What have I done?_ He asks himself, _I did this._ He thinks, he knows...what terrifies him the most is he doesn't even know if he expected this outcome or not. It scares him so bad...makes him tremble right here, with Dean bordering dangerously close to slipping away from him.

Had he really been that angry, that selfish that he had wanted Dean to hurt that bad? No! No, never. But then what had happened? He knows, he can still feel those words on his tongue like he'd just said them a second ago...he'd taken away Dean's most precious possession, their brotherhood, their trust...that knowledge that even when no one else cared that Sam still did...Sam still needed his big brother. That Sam would do anything for him.

He'd left his brother locked in a dungeon for Christ's sake! Dean, who had been trapped in hell and purgatory and other limitless places by their enemies, Sam had left him alone and defenseless against the evil inside himself. Left him vulnerable to all his panic and all his self doubt...a victim to his own thoughts, to his own guilt. The guilt Sam had worked so meticulously to weave.

He can hardly see through his blurred vision as he wraps Dean's arm in clean, white gauze. As he hides the proof of his brother's self-loathing, hides the proof that Dean would die to make things right...make things right for Sam. Because Sam had no doubt that this is exactly what happened, Dean had tried to 'fix' himself so he could fight with Sam, so they could defeat Metatron so Sam could have his apple pie life...so Sam could be free of him.

He's kneeling beside the bed leaning against the mattress, fingertips feather light over the still bloody half moons in Dean's palm where he'd clenched his fists so tight that it had punctured his skin. The proof of a will, a will to fight the darkness inside him, a will to destroy it even if it cost Dean his life.

"I am so sorry,' he whispers huskily. "I'm so sorry...I don't even know, I don't...know how I got like this. I need to tell you I need you to come back to me, I need more time," he's asking, he's begging as real, great big tears begin to run down his face and Sam buries it against Dean's arm smelling in the scent of him amidst his sheets and his warmth.

"I love you." He whispers, the heaviness in his heart, crushing his soul, feels like suffocation. Dean is only silent.

...tbc

*tears, hugs, shivers* PLEASE LEAVE ME SOME REVIEWS!;);)

Sorry this is taking so long. Doing mah best :):)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

 _There is no time to Dean, only burning hunger. Freezing emptiness. Sam is the only thing holding him together. Up on the mountain he sees nothing but Sam. Hears nothing but Sam's blood, his words, sees his smiles and lives his quiet happiness in their current life. He's scared to disappoint him. Knows that soon he'll screw it all up._

 _He can't stomach food again. He throws up what little food Sam more or less shoves down his throat. His mind wanders, he can't keep himself from thinking about the warm, slick, gorgeous redness of blood anymore. He trembles, his hands shake…he can't do anything and at night he dreams of pleading Sam to let him at least look at the blade, at least lay his dry, blood shot eyes on its outline._

 _Sam is siting in the living room pouring his soul into the reading of some old, dusty book sipping on Stress–Relieving tea. Dean had dutifully drunk his and then promptly risen to discreetly make his way to the bathroom. As he looks at the blood in the toilet that he'd hack up with the watery leftovers of the tea only moments earlier he knows…_

… _he's dying. And there's nothing either of them can do about it_.

…

 _It's swirling darkness, misty with an underlying deep unfathomable purple. Through the darkness, which seems to be an entity all of its own, Dean can see Cain standing, giving him his back. At his feet there's a prone figure, blood soaking into the ground around it. Dean can only rightly assume it's the body of his brother, Abel._

 _Dean shudders at the sight of blood dripping from the tip of the first blade gripped tightly in his hand. He can't help it, can't fight it…he thinks of Sam. Fear grips his heart, roots him to the spot…he asked for this, he asked for the Mark, had he asked for Sam's death, for his baby brother's very blood?_

 _It's so very cold, his breath clouding in front of him and he shivers even harder as Cain slowly turns to face him. Dean tries to back up, tries to get away. To escape this unavoidable reflection of himself. Dead eyed, stone faced…hands covered in the blood of his brother, his most precious companion…his reason to live._

" _You and me are the same, Dean." He says in the authoritative, soft voice that has Dean believing him without thought. "You will kill your brother just as I killed mine."_

 _And suddenly Sam is there on his knees between them. His shaggy head hanging limp to his chest, his hands bound behind him like a sacrifice for the offering. And Dean finally finds the strength to move. He stumbles away from his brother, quick to remove the darkness inside himself away from his innocent, good, little brother._

 _He pushes out a trembling hand towards Cain. "No. St, stay away from him. He doesn't deserve to die, he's not like us."_

" _He is like us Dean." Cain says, stepping around the younger Winchester arm outstretched and offering Dean the handle of the First Blade. "He's capable of the same darkness, save him from that possibility, save him from himself…like I saved Abel."_

 _He can't control himself, he can't stop his arm reaching out…his hand wrapping around the blade. He needs blood. God, he needs it…you don't understand how he needs it. He aches for it, he burns for it…he can hardly think or see for the desire of blood drowning out his senses._

 _And Sam looks up; kaleidoscope hazel–green eyes glistening wetly, fear and trust fighting for dominance in them. And Dean can hear it, hear the blood racing through Sam's veins, pumping through his body, waiting to spill out and bathe him in relief._

 _He raises the blade and Cain's face is alight in triumph._

" _No!" The knight of hell shrieks in anger as the blade runs cleanly through Dean's arm, hitting its bullseye; the mark._

 _And Dean sighs softly, looking down numbly, peace washing over him…there is blood._

…

One way or another, through tear blurred, swollen eyes Sam gets the dungeon clean. He's all too happy to make any proof of Dean being locked away disappear but it still crushes him knowing he'd done it. Sam throws the knife Dean had used to seer the flesh away from his arm away without a thought, he never wants to see it again. Never wants Dean to see it again.

The skin on his hands burn as he washes them in the kitchen after he's done. His eyes are dry and burning now…but he can't get clean, god Dean's blood, and vomit and sweat, and confusion and pain…Sam can't wash it off.

He finds himself back in Dean's room, eyes on his brother's pale face. Dean's skin is wet and shiny, unhealthy red coloring the middle of his cheeks, he shivers and trembles, teeth clenching and grinding.

Sam sinks to his knees backs of the knuckles of one hand going to his older sibling's forehead, fingers of the other hand seeking out his wrist to count a pulse. Dean jerks away from his touch and Sam's heart sinks…

"St…stay away from him…" Dean mumbles, his face twisting with internal agony. "He doesn't deserve to die, he's not like us…" he whispers, calming though his eyes still rove under their lids.

"Dean," Sam starts, voice tremulous. "It's okay, I'm here, you're okay."

"No S'm," he mummers back, "Stay away." He sighs exhaustedly, before rolling over onto his side away from his baby brother. Sam slumps dejectedly, can't even begin to imagine what Dean is going through, what is going on in his head. How his subconsciousness in choosing to torture him in his fevered state.

"I'm here." He says to Dean's back, "I'm not going anywhere you can forget it. Whatever it is we can figure it out together."

And then the sound reaches his ear…a soft scratching sound, nails against skin, fabric rustling. He jumps up lightening fast before he even has time to think, jerking Dean over onto his back. His fingers wrap around the wrist of Dean's uninjured arm the fingers of which are digging mercilessly into his wound where the Mark used to be. It takes most of Sam's strength to drag Dean's desperate fingers away from the wound and he grimaces at the raw inflamed skin starting to ooze blood.

Dean whines and struggles, his face contorting in a pained grimace, fists clinched.

"Shit Dean." Sam whispers, as he grabs a hand towel from the bedside table and holds it too the bloody wound, a cool hand against Dean's hot neck soothing him with soft whispers. When Dean has settled a little Sam goes to the bathroom and soaks a wash cloth with cold water, wrings it out and then spreads it over Dean's forehead.

But Dean turns his face back towards his brother and his touch, "Sammmmmyyy…" he sighs out a calm sleepy breath. And Sam feels his heart inevitably heal and break with the swell of love and fear for his big brother.

…

Sam looks up as Dean blinks quickly, his eyelashes clumping and sticking together with sleep. His muscles tense and he moans under his breath as he shifts under the covers. The younger Winchester watches carefully as Dean lifts his arm to gaze at the wound through bleary eyes, the contented, sickly–fascinated gleam in them making Sam's concern spike even higher.

"Dean?" He asks hesitantly, not at all sure his brother is actually with him.

Dean's eyes jump to his, and Sam's heart contracts so painfully at the way he tenses and distances himself even if it is just mentally and emotionally. The vulnerability and fear evident in Dean's features lets Sam know Dean isn't himself, makes him rise to reach out a hand to feel his temperature.

Dean stays still. Doesn't move at all, his eyes seem to stare through Sam and everything else, he doesn't even flinch when Sam touches his forehead.

"Dean, how are you feeling?" He asks quietly, sighing with the still blaring heat of his fever.

Dean simply hmms under his breath, looking away eyes back to the wound on his arm and Sam frowns.

"Dean. It's me, it's Sammy." He said quietly but firmly, leaning down and taking hold of one of Dean's hands. "I'm here, I came back…do you remember what happened? What happened to you? You're worrying me."

"Sammy?" Dean asks quietly, confused. His eyes finally lifting to study Sam's familiar features. "You came back?"

Sam smiles, sweet relief flooding him. "Yes, its me. Of course I came back…"

The agony in Dean's eyes scares the breath from Sam's chest. "I don't wanna hurt you Sammy…" is all Dean breathes out as he wrestles his hand from Sam's grip.

"You would never hurt me." Sam says firmly, "You know that better than anyone."

"That's the thing." Dean says, words muffled as he looks down at his arm, lips caught between his teeth as he rubs his thumb over the raw flesh, "I don't know that anymore."

And jesus, he sounds terrifyingly coherent, like himself.

Sam's never felt Dean this far from him, has never felt him so unreachable. He watches with wide eyes as Dean roughly rubs those wrinkles between his eyebrows worriedly. Watches the fear and confusion dance in his eyes, the muscles tense as he clenches his fists and squeezes his eyes closed against the thoughts and doubts his brain and the fever are drowning him in.

"Just sleep." Sam pushes gently, "I'm gonna be right here, I won't let you hurt me."

"Don't let me hurt you…" Dean echoes as he slips back into oblivion.

…tbc

Gonna be working on this more. Thx for you guys patience! REVIEW!? ;):);)


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

Sam wakes up to Dean lying as far away as he can on the edge of the mattress with his back turned to him. The covers have been knocked down to their waists and Dean shivers, so, as Sam rubs sleep from his eyes with one hand he pulls the three blankets back up Dean's shoulders.

His brother stirs with the shift in air, pulling his wounded arm back under the covers before Sam gets a good look at it, and his eyes slit open. Sam gets the distinct impression he's been awake for at least a few minutes. But he's still as Sam's fingers feel his forehead and the younger Winchester is relieved with the somewhat cooler feel of Dean's skin.

"Hey," Sam greets, thrilled when Dean gives no reaction to said fingers pushing his spikes back from his forehead.

Dean grunts in response, "You're back?" He asks sleepily, eyes coasting shut and then opening in a hurry as if to make sure Sam's still there.

"Yeah I'm back." Sam says, swallowing around the painful clenching in his chest, clears his throat nervously, looking down at the floor for a moment. "You hungry? Ready for something to eat?"

"No." Dean says firmly, eyes closing all the way now. And Sam, remembering the vomit in the dungeon, decides not to press it this time.

"Okay," he agrees, "But you got to have something to drink…gotta stay hydrated." Dean doesn't respond to that, his eyelids still fluttering. "Be right back," Sam whispers. As he rises and leaves the room he feels Dean's eyes on him, following him out and he sighs happily; that's normal.

Sam's breath catches in his throat as he enters Dean's room again and finds the bed empty. He shuts his eyes trying to compose himself enough to check the room thoroughly before flipping out. His nerves are still stretched to a bare thread, his heart slams in his temples as he rushes to the bathroom door to make sure his brother is in it.

He sighs when he spots Dean standing barefoot on the cold bathroom tiles. The older Winchester is still shirtless, still way too pale but regardless Sam can see the uncertainty and fear in his eyes and body language. Desperation and hopelessness are coming off of him in waves as he looks down at his forearm, thumb ghosting over the wound softly. Sam steps into the bathroom to his brother's side and looks down to see what Dean is staring at so intensely.

Their wide eyes meet in the shocked silence.

The skin of Dean's arm is still red and raw with scanning along the edges…but there, rising from the flesh, is the Mark of Cain. It's rough blister–like appearance is the same. It looks as though nothing has happened, as if the skin around had been burned but not the Mark itself. He wouldn't have believed that it wasn't there a few hours ago if hadn't seen it himself. Chills and fear sweep down Sam's spine and he grips the edge of the sink hard with his hand.

Dean himself sways and Sam quickly reaches out and places a hand between his shoulder blades. He reaches out with his other hand and grabs Dean's arm pulling it towards him and bending over it. Dean lets him, his breaths heavy on Sam's face and neck as he waits for Sam's reaction. The evidence of evil and unnatural forces inside of him indeed condemning. He's waiting for Sam to turn on him, waiting for Sam to turn him out of the bunker…waiting to be left again.

"What in the world," Sam breathes out, noticing the way the Mark has grown completely new in flesh and skin, not a bit of it raw and inflamed like the rest of Dean's forearm. "I've never seen anything like this." He gently thumbs over the Mark feeling the rough skin, his eyes jump to meet Dean's sparkling and fascinated, though the worry is still there, the care.

At Dean's expression Sam softens even more and drops his brother's arm and instead grips his bicep forcing him to face him. "Hey." He demands firmly, "We can handle this, we got this, everything is gonna be alright."

The relief, the burden lifting from his brother's countenance at Sam's support nearly breaks the younger Winchester's heart. This is what he had done, this is how far he'd torn them down…this is how alone he'd left Dean to be.

"Sammy…" Dean chokes out, the helplessness and fear, the amazement and the gratefulness sweeping over Sam and just grinding the self discrimination deeper and deeper. He welcomes it, God, here is a lesson he'll never forget, he never wants to forget so keep the punishment coming, keep the guilt fresh.

"Dean listen to me…" he says evenly, though emotions are welling up in his throat. "I was wrong, I was so freaking wrong." Dean's face is passive with surprise at Sam's words. "And I'm so sorry, I'm sorry for everything, I'm sorry about everything I said, you are my brother and if anything ever happened to you god, Dean…I'd want to die…I need you and I know you need me too…I understand now and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for not seeing, for not understanding sooner."

"Sammy…" Dean whispers softly, eyes wide with beautiful surprise, love and acceptance.

"Just..." Sam swallows, "Just c'mere." He reaches to the back of Dean's neck with his hand and pulls his brother to him into an embrace. Dean melts against him, hiding his face in Sam's neck. And Sam turns his head to bury his nose in Dean's hair and familiarity, his safety and _rightness_.

"Don't leave again."

Sam more feels than hears the wounds mumbled against his neck, his arms tighten around Dean in response.

"I won't," he whispers back into the short hairs just behind Dean's ear. "I won't, I swear."

He feels Dean's hands fist in the back of his shirt, and this was what was missing…being held on to, holding on to what means the most to him. He sighs into it, he smiles eyes shut…soul finally breathing, finally resting. He'll never separate himself from Dean again, never tear his very heart out again.

He feels Dean tense against him and for a moment he panics, thinking Dean is second guessing, or changing his mind, remembering all the horrible things Sam did and said. Then Dean is whispering a curse under his breath and letting him go, his older brother bending over the sink and hacking and heaving painfully.

Nothing comes up except watery mucous…that is until its tinted pink, then darker until it's red, till Dean coughs one last time and looks to his baby brother with watery eyes. Sam watches in horror as blood silkily drips from his lips and chin. Dean uses the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his face only managing to smear it over his pale as death skin.

He's trembling, shaking with weakness and the adrenaline rush of his stomach heaving so violently. Sam holds onto him tightly as he pulls him out of the bathroom and to his bed. Sam hands him the water and Dean drinks slowly as Sam grabs a wet washcloth which Dean takes to wipe the blood off his face with.

"Shit Dean." Sam says softly lowering himself slowly to take a seat on the bed beside him, "Has this happened before?"

Dean's whole frame shudders, his body language entirely changing. He slumps in on himself, his arms wrapping around his shivering middle. Eyes on the floor looking ashamed and defeated as he nods.

"Hey." Sam says, catching his older brother's chin in his hand. "This isn't your fault, you don't have to be shamed, you don't have to hide from me…I'm not going to hate you."

Dean's eyes go wide, but are still deep and shining with an internal ache, a haunting hunger for something…Sam's heart stops with what his brother says next.

"It's because it's been too long…"

"Too long since what?" He asks, even though he knows, even though he already knows what his brother needs, remembers the rabid, bloodlust in his eyes when he went after Gadreel.

Dean's eyes raise to his, glinting in the low lighting, "Too long since I killed." He confesses lowly. Sam shudders and clenches his fists, and Dean leans away from him almost fearful.

"Crowley is gonna pay for this." Sam Winchester growls as he stands, ready to summon the king of hell…the king of withholding information and using good people for his own useless, dark purposes.

"Don't bother Sammy," Dean says softly, breathlessly. "Crowley can't help, no one can help…this is on me, it was my decision and I will have to bear the consequences."

 _If I die it's on me, nobody's fault but mine._

The words are unspoken but loud in the silence of the room.

The boys watch helplessly as Dean's body trembles and the Mark comes alive pulsing dark, reddish orange light, glowing through his veins. Sam's fear of being too late is coming back…had he reconnected with his brother only to lose him in the end?

…tbc

Okay guys, congratulate me! Two chapters in two weeks…amazing for this story lol. REVIEW!? ;):);):)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

 _Sam has good days and bad days too. Days when he can't look at Dean without seeing the walking dead man he is. Days when Sam cries in the shower, when he bites the inside of his mouth raw it all just hurts so damn much. Days when he sits and pretends to read all day, staring past his pages and seeing scene after scene from their childhood together._

 _Moments upon moments of their lives lived shoulder to shoulder…he can't imagine it any other way._

 _Maybe that's way he's so angry, so filled with grim determination that Dean won't leave him. He'll never get past that shameful feeling of forgetting Dean and starting a life with Amelia…he'll never be rid of that guilt…and he somehow thinks this…its repayment for that. Now that he realizes just what he's losing all he can do is hang on as tight as he can and be dragged towards the abyss where Dean spends his life,_

 _The dark aura around his brother is tangible, yet Dean is still Dean. Beautiful and devoted, steady like mountains, ever changing like rivers; a contradiction that compliments each other. Sam trembles with the realization that Dean, just like him, is being drawn to this abyss of darkness unwillingly._

 _Something inside his precious brother is killing his light, his goodness, the very essence of Dean Winchester. Something inside. It never ceases to terrify him, never fails to send a chill down his spine._

 _He wakes up one night to use the bathroom and looks in on Dean only to find salt on the floor at his door. He's confused at first but not for long. His brother is making sure whatever is inside him, whatever he's turning into, stays inside his room and away from Sam…_

 _It breaks the younger Winchester in ways he can't even explain, ways he doesn't even understand. He stands on the opposite side of the salt line, for the first time in his life his older sibling had willingly separated himself from Sam._

 _He respects Dean. He doesn't cross it, though his tears may dissolve some of it as he stands thinking, yes this is punishment, this is hell._

…

Sam finds his mind drifting back to Cas and Gadreel as he switches a load of towels and sheets from the washer to the dryer. Where were they? What had happened? What had Metatron and the Angels done to them when they arrived in heaven? Sam shakes his head, shakes the thoughts from his mind.

He made his decision…he chose Dean and he'll be damned if he ever regrets it. He sighs and pushes hair from his face and back behind his ears. He's spent enough time looking at the world, thinking about what humanity needed, about what they thought of him when the only person who really cared about him…who really meant anything to him had been there all along watching him and prepared to catch him when he fell with a love so selfless and so unconditional that Sam could hardly wrap his head around it.

He was ready to return that love. They were big shoes to try and fill, but then, he's been trying to be like Dean since he can ever remember. He has no idea what he's doing, has no idea how he and Dean are going to get out of this one…but he hasn't felt this complete and safe, hopeful of his future in a long time.

Goes to show just how far he had drug them down.

Dean had started to look him in the face again even though its just for a few seconds at a time. And Sam feels his breath catches every time he sees those sparkling green emeralds and he's starting to realize just how far apart he and Dean had drifted.

Now that the silences aren't filled with yelling and arguing Sam finds himself biting the inside of his mouth, watching Dean's shuttered expressions and thinking about who his brother had become over the last few months. How had all this touched his sensitive soul? What had the wear and tear done to this faithful warrior?

Because sometimes Sam doesn't know the man he calls brother.

It's just been a few times, a few glances, a few words…but it's enough for Sam to start wondering what had Dean filled his days and time with when Sam was closed up in his room 'researching' but really just forcing the cold turkey method on his brother, ridding him of the most important aspect, person of his life.

Sam stops in Dean's doorway, hesitant as to if he's welcome. Dean's on his bed curled up on his side, facing away from the light but he shifts his head and his eyes sparkle in the gloom.

"C'mon in." He says softly, and Sam can read the weariness in his features. He hates it because he can easily see that it's not only physical…Dean's soul is tired, Sam's so scared, tired of fighting. Fighting on, struggling to live, keeping the good alive. Had Dean reached his limit, after all these years had that warrior inside of him finally collapsed under the strain of years and years of responsibility and caring?

He prays Dean is only at a low point. Prays that he still holds some kind of power over his sibling, that Dean still loves him enough to allow Sam to pull him up from this abyss. He enters Dean's room and gently lowers himself to the bed on his stomach, rests his chin in his hands and studies Dean closer up.

"You look awful." He states, and revels in the way Dean's lips lift in a wry smile. "How're you feeling?"

"Felt better, but at the same time feeling better then a couple of hours ago so…" he shrugs. It's so unlike Dean to not deny pain and sickness that it twists with unease in Sam's stomach.

Silence reigns between them for a few moments before Dean looks up to his face, eyes bottomless and hard to read amidst the uncertainty mixed with contentedness. Sam swallows thickly thinking maybe, just maybe he's the reason Dean's eyes are sparkling and smiling a bit more than usual.

"Sammy." Dean breaks the silence with a steady, low voice. "What are we doing?"

"What do you mean, what are we doing? Dean, you're getting better yo…" Sam shifts uncomfortably on the bed at Dean's steady gaze as he lies there still recovering from the last selfless act he'd performed.

"I mean." Dean says slowly. "I mean we have to make a decision…" Sam's heart swells with the 'we'. "What are we doing?" He asks again, "Pretending like we can fix this…we need to decide what we're going to do…what I'm going to do. Metatron is still out there I have to…"

"Just stop it." Sam half snaps. "You don't have to do anything…god, Dean," he stresses, nervous laughter falling from his lips. "What haven't you already done?" Dean looks confused at this.

Sam just looks him straight in the eyes. "If you can't be selfish for yourself, be selfish for me." Dean's eyes go soft and starts to say something but Sam stops him, holding up a trembling hand. "We both know you won't come back from the fight with Metatron, one way or another your going to be lost to me…

"And Dean I'm not ready for that, I'm not ready to give you up, to give up on this," he motions between them. "So be selfish, because I am, I'm going to be selfish; there's no way in hell I'm letting you go fight Metatron."

Dean's stunned silence gives Sam hope, and he looks down to hide his tears as Dean's hand slowly comes to grab onto his forearm.

"Sammy," he says softly, brokenly, eyes alive and filled with aching, "People will die…Cas, Gadreel…"

Sam tilts his head to one side, hesitantly showing Dean his swimming eyes. "So be it."

Dean closes his eyes like Sam's words place the heaviest burden on him, but also releases from some death sentences, from some world where Sam didn't care if he sacrificed his life for the earth. Sam gently places his hand on top of Dean's where it's still gripping his arm.

"I don't know what else to do," he whispers hoarsely. "But I know I can't say goodbye to you like this, like we're strangers. I can't give you up like you haven't already sacrificed everything for everyone else. I can't let them use you like you're some dispensable weapon…not when," he swallows and looks away to the rest of the room. "Not when you're everything to me."

He feels Dean breathing deep and steady on the bed beside him. Feels the moment Dean's comes to a decision, the tension leaving his body and he melts back into the mattress going still. Sam hates how even this short conversation has exhausted him.

"Okay." Dean says quietly, looking down at his arm that's holding Sam's, the arm that bears the Mark, and the wound that is red and angry.

"So be it," he echoes Sam. "So be it."

tbc…

Alrighty another chapter! I'm loving this so freakin much! How about you guys? REVIEW!? ;):);)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

 _There are days Sam can see Dean hating himself from miles away._

 _Days when his brother stares up into skies so blue it hurts with his arms wrapped around himself tightly. Sam knows he's thinking about Cas. About his best friend who drug him from the darkest bowels of hell. His best friend who saw the burning, pure light of his soul even when it was encrusted with the blood of the innocent and the rightly placed guilt._

 _Sam knows Dean watches the sky thinking of how Cas was most likely never fly again, never be an angel again…never be given the recognition and honor he deserved. Never even experience the happy, innocent life of a human…never hear Dean whisper the word sorry, I'm sorry over and over again…even though Sam hears it plenty when Dean mumbles it in his sleep with silent tears inching down his face._

 _It tears Sam apart as well. Even though Cas' life lays on his head and shoulders like mountains of guilt and self hatred…the way it's stripping Dean of his strength and control destroys Sam even faster._

 _Sam finds him one night sitting in an old chair out the back of the cabin, kicked back nearly reclining, gazing up at the stars. Sam stops behind, leans against the back of the chair and Dean looks up at him. The grief and pain acute in his expressive green eyes, that are for once not guarded. He sniffs, running his arm across his face using his sleeve to wipe his nose…he's unsuccessfully battling a cold._

 _Sam is quiet, joins him in looking up into the heavens. They listen to the last of the crickets singing before winter comes to the mountains, their nightly companion, a huge, majestic horn-tipped owl, hoots loudly into the night._

" _I just…" Dean breaks the silence, eyes still fixed on the uncountable, unfathomable stars… "I just wish I could've said goodbye."_

 _Sam's heart cracks a little bit more. Not 'I wish I could've saved Cas', not 'l wish you hadn't betrayed him', not 'I wish he was still alive' just…I wish I could've said goodbye._

 _Of course Dean didn't even get that much._

…

Dean is up. He's standing in the map room looking at the rusty orange stains on the floor. Blood. Blood _he_ had spilt in their home. He hates himself, because even now he feels the surge of excitement, the rise of his blood pressure, the speeding up of his heart beat, his eyes dilating. God, he's a monster.

A monster Sam trusts.

He shivers, slowly shuffling away from the proof of his darkness and goes up the stairs to the library, wincing with the movements. His entire body aches, bones groaning, skin feeling too tight, too small for him, the pain radiating off his arm is nearly unbelievably. Dean wouldn't even believe something could hurt this much if he wasn't feeling it for himself.

He more or less collapses into a chair and stares morosely into the warm, yellow light of the lamp. He remembers Gadreel's scream of agony, remembers Sam and Cas' hands on him pulling him back and away, they were nearly overcome by the unnatural strength in his body.

Where was Cas? Sam accepted that he would die without batting an eye. Dean knows his brother…knows something had gone down, something had already happened. Something unforgivable.

Sam was determined. Face set like stone, he was fully in charge of the situation, taking care of Dean with a gentle fierceness that lets Dean know Sam has already paid a dear price for this second chance with him. Don't be mistaken…Dean will always stand by Sam no matter what he does but still.

The question still stands; what had Sam done?

Dean props his tired head up on his hand, resting his elbow against the table. He's in sweats, socks Sam had more or less forced him to wear and a long sleeved t-shirt with a thick flannel buttoned up over it. Not Dean's most fashionable moment but he's been cold and he's finally warm.

In his other hand he's got a bottle of water Sam instructed him to drink and he's eyeing it despairingly not looking forward to throwing it up. He looks up as Sam comes into the room with a duffle bag slung over each shoulder. He sets them down on the table and sighs, eyes moving to the unopened bottle in Dean's hand.

"Dean." He says softly, "If you won't eat you have to at least drink something."

"I know." Dean says hoarsely, voice cracking as he relents and opens the water bottle, sipping slowly, eyeing Sam carefully. "We going some place?"

Sam shifts uncomfortably, eyes skirting away from Dean's. "I don't think we can stay here right now…"

"Sammy." Dean says softly, leaning forward to catch his eyes, he taps the table across from him, "Sit. Tell me what happened, I'm not gonna judge you."

"You're going to hate me." Sam mumbles slumping into the chair.

"Never," Dean whispers with the sincerest smile yet on his lips. "I will never hate you. Sam." He urges, eyes going serious, "Tell me."

Sam sighs stressfully, resting both elbows on the table, rubbing his hands down his face in a dry scrub. Dean can see the haunting in his eyes, the weight of his decision resting on him. But still that ever present spark of light, that flame of fight is there…the blazing desire for justice and life still burning and glowing deep within his brother. Dean draws strength from it.

"We had a plan." Sam says slowly. "Gadreel and Cas would go to heaven, persuade the angels over to our side if they could…we were to locate Metatron and you were to distract him while they found the angel tablet and broke it…hopefully with the tablet broken Metatron's power would be cut off and you, with the Mark and the first blade, would kill him…

"The chances of it working were slim, the percent even smaller where any of you survived. But Cas and Gadreel were sure this was the only way. So I made a choice, a choice between them and you…"

Silence reigns between them for a moment.

"They went to heaven, handed themselves over to the enemy and we never showed." Dean asks, looking Sam straight in the eyes, for the moment his eyes veiled, keeping Sam from reading him.

Sam nods swallowing thickly.

Dean clears his throat saying huskily, "So Cas is probably already dead."

"Yes." Sam whispers, eyes glued to the table and away from his brother. He doesn't want to see the hate, the disgust.

"You realize what you did for me?" Dean asks, a dark, regretful tone in his voice.

Sam's head shoots up, their eyes clashing in a battle of _it wasn't worth it_ and _it was worth it_.

"I would do it again."

"Sam–"

"No, Dean. Just no."

It's quiet again between them, Sam can see the moment Dean relents either too tired to fight him or too relieved that Sam still cares that much. _Of course I still care that much!_ He cries out inside. He sighs heavily running his hands over his tired eyes again.

"Metatron is going to be looking for us." He says steadily eyes going back to Dean's. "And even if he's not and Cas survived…then Cas is going to be looking answers, for help…and Dean I know you, you will…no matter what you will and I'm not going to let that happen.

"So we're leaving." He finishes matter of factly, holding his breath waiting for Dean's argument.

His brother is silent, his eyes aglow like with fever only Dean's fever broke hours ago.

"Okay," Dean says quietly. "Okay," the whisper barely falls from his lips as he tries to ignore the Mark and it's darkness inside him crowing with relief at avoiding the dangerous situation. He feels like a coward even as Sam's love and concern, faithfulness and devotion warms him up inside.

tbc…

Another chapter, phew…I know this is emotionally exhausting…but there are so many emotions in season 9 that are totally looked over and kind of leave us feeling washed up and heart heavy. It's been years since I sat down and watched all of season 9 together, and I'm still writing this off that left over emotion…so yeah it's real.

REVIEW IF YOU WANT IT UPDATED FASTER ! ;););););)


	8. 8 All Good Things Must Come To An End

Hi Everyone!

Your writer here...I'm sorry if you were excited for a chapter but I just needed to put this notice out. This fiction is going on hiatus, I'm very happy with where it went this summer, but honestly I'm not sure if I'll add anymore so I'm going to mark it as completed and leave it like this so anyone who wants can still enjoy what I've written so far. Perhaps I'll come back to it someday...

I wrote this fiction to simply to satisfy myself and an idea I had for an AU...as I mentioned in the last chapter season 9 left me with a lot of emotions and even anger at the characters...I loved this exploration of them...and of myself. With the summer hiatus coming to an end and season 13 fast approaching I'm done with this story for now.

Thank you so much to everyone who followed it and reviewed...you guys hang the sun and moon for me and I can't ever express how much you mean to me. :):):):)

About this time last year I posted a pre-show dated fic that someone had requested. I've had another request...and a fiction with teen!chesters will be coming very soon and will be completed before the season 13 premiere...

Again I love you all so much and am very sorry for any disappointment I might be causing by not adding to this anymore. :(:(:(:(

Always Keep Fighting, I love you my Supernatural family!


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